The City Editor Poem by Donal Mahoney
The City Editor
Each morning,
he sits at his desk,
lights a cigar,
starts looking around
like a bear on a waterfall
looking for salmon. He growls
for raw copy, anything typed,
anything with errors in it.
Each day he comes to the office
honed to rectify wrongs.
Suffer the little stories
to come unto him.
Monday, May 5, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: work
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4/25/2024 7:51:05 AM # 1.0.0.1119
